


Benediction

by Philomytha



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-03
Updated: 2011-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-25 16:15:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philomytha/pseuds/Philomytha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aral and Illyan meet at the end of <em>Memory</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Benediction

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Aral Vorkosigan's Dog](https://archiveofourown.org/works/135363) by [Philomytha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philomytha/pseuds/Philomytha). 



> This was once the epilogue to my 'Aral Vorkosigan's Dog', but I think it works fine as a standalone as well.

Illyan looked up suddenly as the atmosphere in the ballroom changed, a subtle change but one that he had learned to perceive many years ago. Then everyone else in the room, even Alys with her fingers entwined in his, faded into the background as the Viceroy of Sergyar entered. Alys was looking up too, and she gave a smile of pure relief, released Illyan's hand and hurried over to draw Aral into the public drama she was directing. Illyan watched them both, and smiled.

At last it was over, and Gregor and Laisa were betrothed. Though he hadn't been in charge of security here, Illyan had been jumpy all the same, possibly as a result of Alys's all too contagious pre-ceremony nerves. But the guests were mingling over drinks now, Alys was working the room with practised skill, and Illyan was propping up a wall and watching out of pure habit. A gap opened up in the crush, and he straightened as he recognised the cause.

Aral came to join him, and, unusually, held out a hand and clasped Illyan's in a warm grip. "Simon. Good to see you here." He turned to stand alongside Illyan, also leaning on the wall and watching the party. Illyan's memory of Aral before he'd left for Sergyar was hazy, a melting blur of images of Aral's slow convalescence, but he looked dynamic and strong again now, even though his hair was all white.

"I won't say I'm sorry," Aral said after a moment. "I am sorry for what you went through, and I'm sorry I wasn't here when you needed me, but I'm not in the least sorry you've escaped into retirement."

"Nor am I," Illyan said. "And Miles did an excellent job in your place."

"So I've heard." He smiled. "It seems hardly adequate to give you my thanks for your service, after all these years."

"Nor necessary," Illyan countered. "Not from you. You know that."

Aral put his hand over his heart in acknowledgement of that, on all its levels. Illyan had served Aral not because it was his duty, but because of who he was, who they both were, and he had gained far more than he'd lost from it.

"Nonetheless," Aral said. "I know that you are one of the reasons we're all still here." His gaze swept the room, taking in Miles and Cordelia, Gregor and Laisa, Alys and Ivan, all the people Illyan had protected, and despite his protestations, Illyan was warmed by the praise. Even after they'd served together thirty years, Aral could still make him feel like a cadet given his first gold star.

Then he turned back to Illyan, his assessing gaze bone-familiar to Illyan even now: the commander taking the measure of his man. "You used to say you wanted to be rid of the chip. Is it what you'd hoped for?"

"I... yes. And no. But mostly, yes. I should have retired when you did and had it removed then, I think, but... well, I've got here now, by a different route." A more excruciating route, he didn't say. But he didn't need to say it. Aral's route to retirement had been every bit as excruciating, in its different way.

Aral shook his head. "We're a pair of foolish old men, Simon. You didn't have to imitate me in this, you know."

"I didn't intend it," Illyan retorted.

"I suppose not. Still, you're here now." A smile creased the corners of Aral's eyes. "And now I hear you're trying to join the family." His gaze flicked to Alys at the epicentre of the room.

Illyan felt himself smile helplessly in return, and Aral stared at him in sudden suspicion.

"Or--how long has this been going on? If there's anyone who could keep things both from ImpSec and the gossip-mongers of this city, it's you two."

"No. No secrets. Besides, we couldn't have kept it from you and Cordelia."

Aral chuckled. "Probably not."

"Not that I don't regret the missed opportunity, mind you. But this was a very recent gift."

"Well," Aral said with a sudden warmth in his voice, "Alys has been like a sister to Cordelia over the years. I'll be happy to count you as a brother as well. You've no need of it, but you're welcome to my blessing."

"Thank you," Illyan said, only half ironically. They looked out over the party again, and Illyan's eye fell on Gregor, Laisa's arm tucked into his, smiling a little dazedly at his well-wishers. "He's turned out well," he said, gesturing.

Aral nodded. "A fine young man. And a true Emperor," he added. "I don't know which is the greater miracle."

"Miracle?" Illyan echoed. "I seem to recall an awful lot of hard work that went into it. And pain," he added more quietly. He recalled more than enough of that, even now.

Aral's glance at him was sharp. "You remember, then?"

"I remember enough. Though it is a... a great mercy that the edges of those memories are smoothed away now." He was still woken sometimes from nightmares of Escobar, of the thousand disasters he'd battled during the Regency and beyond, but they were slippery fading dreams now, not the crystal-sharp images from his chip.

"I'm glad that the last record is gone," Aral murmured. "It's over now. At last." He studied Illyan for a minute, as if he could see through to the hole in his head where the chip had been, where Ezar's private record of the Escobaran war had lived for so many years. Illyan had gone back to the lab at ImpSec to watch Avakli incinerate the remains of the chip, and then had gone home with Alys to celebrate, or mourn--he still wasn't sure which emotion was uppermost in his mind, though Alys's presence pushed him strongly towards 'celebrate'. Ezar's last legacy was ash now, a few flakes added to the medical waste disposal unit.

"I had a vid-disk from Elena the other day," Aral went on after a pause. "She said she's expecting a baby. A girl. She's going to name her Cordelia."

Illyan half-turned towards Aral. "Oh," he said, inadequately. "That's wonderful."

More than wonderful. It felt like a benediction, like a sudden unexpected and undeserved gift. Elena, who had been born out of his cowardice and the Prince's vile lusts, now making a family of her own and a new, hopeful future. Not undoing his failures, but taking them and turning them into something more. He met Aral's eye and saw the same agony of gratitude there as he looked back at Gregor and his Komarran bride, at this new generation who could take their most terrible disasters and make new life of them.

"We really can retire now," Illyan said, and Aral nodded, his gaze meeting Illyan's in silent understanding. They had failed so many times, but despite those failures, their dreams of a better future were starting to bear true fruit at last. Their work was over.

They stood in a bubble of peaceful silence in the noisy room until Alys swept up to them. She spared a brief smile for Illyan, then said, "Aral, if you please, your speech is in five minutes."

"I'll be there," Aral said. He suddenly grinned. "That means you must have at least two minutes spare." He opened a hand to Illyan. "Don't waste them."

He gave Illyan a firm nod, pushed off the wall and headed for Cordelia in the crowd, leaving Illyan with Alys. Illyan watched him go, then caught Alys's hands, and her alert eyes softened, her smile changing from something busily social to a deeper and more private expression.

"It seems to be going well," he said, glancing back at the party. "Do you have two minutes?"

"I expect I can steal that much," she said. "How does it all look to you?"

Illyan drew her closer, marvelling anew at how his life could have led him here, to this woman. "It's perfect," he answered, meaning both this betrothal and his whole life. "All of it."

"Good," she said, and he pulled her into the little alcove and took her in his arms.


End file.
